


Do-Over

by watchingoverher



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 17:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19339621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchingoverher/pseuds/watchingoverher
Summary: 8x2 scene rewriteArya appoints Sandor to show her 'what it's like'... Rawr.





	Do-Over

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are other stories with this same scenario, but I couldn't resist writing my own. Some of the language is not complaint with the show, but I don't know the names for some things (clothing, clits, and orgasms!).

Arya wanders through the once familiar castle corridors as night falls. Dread and darkness blanket Winterfell. She ponders her life, the choices she made, and her preference for solitude. Even now, as others find companionship in small groups or pair off, she walks alone. The sounds of sex reach her ears as she passes a row of chambers.

That's another topic that has been on her mind a lot lately. Not only dying at just eighteen but never experiencing what it's like to lay with a man. Of course, she has experienced much rarer things in her young life, but one does not cancel out the other. Although she has been attracted to men before, she never seriously gave anyone the time or opportunity to interest her. There's plenty of men here tonight if she truly wanted to change that.

Her thoughts drift to Gendry and Podrick. Both men are young, good-looking, and kind. There's a rumor going around about Podrick being generous with women in bed, which is tempting. Gendry is more familiar, though that seems irrelevant in the face of death. She has no use for for love, lords, or heirs. She wouldn't put it past either of them to propose after one night of mediocre fucking. She scoffs and thinks about other options.

Stammering Samwell Tarly is a sweetheart, but he would probably be terrible in bed, and he has Gilly. Grey Worm is quite attractive and mirrors her fighting abilities in many ways, but he has Missandei. She briefly considers whether or not he has a cock like some of the men say, but ultimately decides it doesn't matter. Tyrion. _No_. He was married to her sister, and she'd like a man at least her size. Next, hmm. Davos is appealing somehow, but also very sweet and old enough to be her father.

Serious consideration was given to the ginger Wildling friend of Jon's. He's big, speaks his mind, and doesn't care about rules or titles. He also has gentle eyes and always seems to be smiling or laughing. He's been making moon-eyes at Brienne, though the attention doesn't appear to be mutual. While he could give her a proper fuck, he'd likely turn her down out of respect for Jon. She rounds a corner and walks onto the battlements and spots the Hound.

He's drinking of course, and she thinks some wine in her belly wouldn't be the worst thing given what she's wanting. She pauses, knowing he's just going to growl, then chooses to put up with his shit rather than returning to the kitchen for her own. He looks up at her then, so she walks up and holds out her hand for the skin. She sits next to him and takes a drink. He's quiet for once, and she doesn't mind company this way.

Even when she hated him, they had been able to work together with ease and very few words. Strangely, she feels safe with him and isn't at all put off by his scars or his attitude. Perhaps it's because he didn't abandon her when she had no one else. Or maybe it's because he kept her fed and protected. He could have been a real bastard and beat or raped her, but he didn't.

"You never used to shut up, now you're just sitting there like a mute," he sounds indifferent, though his asking proves otherwise. Of course, he had to ruin the moment.

"Guess I've changed," she says flatly. "What are you doing up here?" She didn't expect him to come here after she left him to die. Clegane is how everyone refers to him now. If she's not going to call him the Hound, she prefers Sandor over Clegane.

"What's it look like?" His voice is gruff.

"No, I mean what are you doing up _here_?" Her curiosity just won't let her drop it. "You joined the Brotherhood. You went beyond the wall with Jon. You're here now. Why? When was the last time you fought for anyone but yourself?" He turns to look at her, and she realizes how close they're sitting.

"I fought for you, did I?" He says gently, his eyes conveying something she doesn't understand. She looks away, and Beric strolls up to where they're sitting. Arya's glad for the interruption and looks up at Beric.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. May as well be at a bloody wedding," Sandor says sounding thoroughly pissed now. It could just be the wine talking. Beric smiles at Arya as he stands in front of them.

"My lady, it's good to see you again. I'm sorry we parted the way we did," Arya looks at him but doesn't respond.

"Is he on your list?" Sandor looks at Arya hopefully and motions his head at Beric.

"For a little while," she says honestly as her gaze moves between them.

"That's all right," Beric sits down across from them. "The Lord of Light has brought us together all the same. This is his moment, when-," Sandor interrupts him.

"Thoros isn't here anymore, so I hope you're not about to give a sermon. If you are, the Lord of Light's gonna wonder why he brought you back nineteen times, just to watch you die when I chuck you over this fucking wall." Arya rolls her eyes and feels bored. She's wasting her time up here listening to them.

"Where you going?" Arya stands before turning around to look at Sandor.

"I'm not spending my final hours with you two miserable old shits," she says and means it. However, as Arya stares at him now, she realizes she overlooked him. She regards his big hand, and long fingers, resting on his knee. His large leg almost spans the battlement width. Sandor's eyes are dark and watching her closely.

She chalks it up to too much wine and turns around. Arya goes through the doorway and stops when she's out of range. She's never thought about Sandor that way before. Arya wonders if she's desperate or if he's the better choice. She leans back against the wall as she considers it.

Sandor isn't sweet, and he won't go soft and propose afterward. She'd also wager that he knows a thing or two about how it all works. He wouldn't refuse her out of loyalty to her brother. However, he might object for reasons of his own. How does one even ask for something like that?

Arya closes her eyes and pictures him in her mind. It's hard to imagine what Sandor looks like under all the hair. While it's common for Northmen to have thick beards in the winter, they're not her favorite. His full bottom lip comes to mind, and she thinks kissing should be included too. She licks her lips and starts to feel warm.

The sound of footsteps reaches her ears just a little too late. Her eyes open slowly as Sandor strides through the doorway. He pauses when he notices her, and his head tilts in confusion. When she doesn't say anything, his brows pull together and moves to stand in front of her. She's especially aware of their height and size difference and wonders how it would feel to have him above her.

"The hell you doing?" Quickly, he's in front of her and raising her chin in his large hand. He's studying her and checking her for an injury. That's okay because she's studying him too, taking a close look at his neck, lips, and eyelashes. Arya should probably say something, but she's too busy staring.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, girl?" He leans in closer and puts his hand on her forehead. Arya bites her lip and notices Sandor's eyes flicker down to her mouth. Before she can think about what she's doing, she reaches up and grips his jacket in both hands. He instantly wraps one arm around her waist, mistaking her holding on to him as needing support.

Arya tugs on his jacket until he's low enough to kiss. He freezes and doesn't kiss her back, nor does he push her away. Encouraged, she licks her lips and kisses him again. His fingers tighten on her hips, and the next time she does it, he responds. Sandor pulls her into him, tilting his head and covering her mouth with his.

So far, her opinion on kissing is favorable. Sandor's lips are softer than she would have imagined, and though his beard is a bit scratchy, it's not distractingly unpleasant. It's over way too soon though. He suddenly pushes away as if she bit him. Arya's breathing is a bit more rapid as she looks up at him.

"Girl! What's wrong with you?" His eyebrows lower and his lips press together in a thin line. Belatedly snapping out of whatever fog she was in, Arya moves with confidence.

As she circles him, he positions himself with his back to the wall. She stands in front of him in fighter stance - legs shoulder width apart, hands behind her back. If nothing else, Arya learned one way to shut him up.

Glancing down almost shyly, she gives herself a mental push, then looks up at him through her lashes. She takes a couple of steps forward, and he doesn't move.

"We're probably going to die soon," she gets as close as she can without yet touching him. "I want to know what it's like before that happens," her voice becomes softer at the end.

"Kissing?" He shakes his head. "That's where your head is at?" He sounds unconvinced. Arya rests her hands on his chest, then makes eye contact as she slides them up toward his neck.

"Not just kissing," she softs so faintly that he has to lean in to hear her, "but to lay with a man." Arya watches him inhale sharply, his eyes reveal a hint of desire and move to her mouth once again. She raises an eyebrow at him to prompt a response.

"Arya," she closes the distance, her right hand on the side of his face as he meets her halfway. She pauses, her mouth almost touching his, and parts her lips. She tilts her head and watches as he does the same. She leans in, but instead of kissing him, she barely lets their lips touch. Sandor leans closer, and they're both a little breathless.

He growls and presses his mouth to hers, kissing her urgently. She moves one hand around his waist, the other wraps around his neck. She starts to undo his jacket as his hands untie hers. He stops her then, and she looks up at him with a frown.

"This is where you want to be fucked?" Breathing heavily, Sandor raises his eyebrows and spreads his arms wide. Winterfell is, of course, busy with preparations and patrols. There are people everywhere, and she's shocked she hadn't consider them before now. She shakes her head finally and gives a half-smile.

"My chambers," she orders finally and doesn't wait for an answer. Arya turns and stalks all the way there, trusting that he's right behind her. She unlocks the door and goes inside, turning to watch him enter. He tosses his jacket on the chair and quickly pulls his shirt off. Arya takes in his bare skin, muscles, and hairy chest then turns to bar the door.

She draws in a deep breath as he comes up behind her and removes her jacket. Her shirt is next, and then he's loosening her pants. A nervous excitement blooms in her stomach and she lets him lead for now. He grips her hips, and she gasps when his mouth suddenly licks and nibbles at her side where she has scars. He removes her boots and then slides her pants down below her ass.

"Mmm," she hears as his big hands find her ass and cup her cheeks. He pushes them up, and she has to brace herself against the door. He squeezes her cheeks now as his teeth graze her shoulder. A very soft moan escapes her lips, and she's feeling something unfamiliar in her lower stomach. Instinctively, she pushes back against him, and he growls low in his throat.

Abruptly she turns and puts her hands on his chest, pushing him toward the bed. Once he's sitting, Arya finishes removing her pants. She looks at him and raises an eyebrow once again.

"Take your own bloody pants off," she says firmly. Sandor opens his mouth, probably to argue, but he does as he's told. She's seen naked men before - traveling with Yoren's group, in Braavos where people are not so reserved, and at the brothel there. She's even seen him naked before when they were stuck together. This time is very different.

His legs are strong and hairy, and his cock stands tall in a patch of dark hair. Sandor focuses on her breasts. She wishes they were larger and resists the urge to cover them with her hands. She reminds herself that he doesn't get to complain about her breasts, that this isn't love, and that they don't have all night.

She straddles his lap and glides her palms up his chest as she did earlier. His hands lightly grip her upper arms as he leans his face into her neck. He inhales and leaves a trail of tiny wet kisses up to her ear.

"You sure you want this, wolf-girl?" He asks sounding half-muffled from his mouth on her skin. She nods and lets her head fall back. He drags his mouth to the other side of her neck, and she gasps. The sensation is incredible, and her nipples harden. "Look at me," his words are gentle yet demanding. Arya lifts her head and looks into his eyes, seeing the lust and restraint.

"You sure you want _me_?" She understands his doubt. Although she's been more than willing tonight, she's never shown any interest in him in this way. She nods, then decides that's not enough. She removes his hands from her arms and places them on her thighs.

She scoots forward then and rubs herself against his cock. He inhales sharply and takes her hips in both hands to keep her close and rubs against her again and again. When Arya leans back and gazes down, he does too.

"Mmm,' she hears again, and it's quickly becoming her new favorite sound. He grips his cock in one hand and spreads the wetness she left behind with his thumb. "Fuck," he says as he looks up at her. He stops touching himself and brings his hand between her legs. Arya bites her lip as Sandor brushes his fingers against her wet and sensitive folds.

She shuts her eyes and lets her head fall back again as his finger parts her and gently dips inside. His other hand cradles her head and keeps it upright.

"I want to see your face," he says in a hushed voice and begins moving his finger. Arya clutches his shoulders and gasps, leaning more against his hand. The sparking of nerve endings and the way his finger feels warm and fluid makes her climb higher. When she feels his finger slide out and not return, she whimpers softly and looks at him.

He's watching her intently, and she reaches down to wrap a hand around him. She moves her hand up and down his length. Arya marvels at the soft skin, the way it yields, and the sounds he makes. He kisses her with just a little tongue as he pulls her hand away. Sandor unties her hair and firmly wraps one arm around her waist.

Arya takes a deep breath. She thinks it's time to find out what it's like, but he surprises her. His hand moves between her legs again, and she feels two fingers find her opening. Arya tenses as they start to push inside.

"Relax," his soft voice washes over her. His fingers begin to wiggle ever so slightly instead of pushing. He keeps them shallow, and that change makes it more bearable. Arya kisses him then, much softer and more sensual than the other times. His fingers begin to push again, and she breaks the kiss to gasp.

"Does it hurt?" His words are low and strained. She shakes her head and begins to move against his hand.

"Ohh," it comes out somewhere between a moan and a sigh.

"That good or bad?" He asks and slows his hand. She nods, feeling too much to speak right now, and moves her hips faster to compensate for him slowing. " _Fuck_ , Arya," he says, and his hand leaves her waist to stroke and squeeze her ass.

"Yes, _fuck Arya_ ," she's almost panting at this point. He laughs and removes his fingers. She notices a hint of pink but says nothing. His grip tightens on her as he moves with her.

"That's the plan, girl," he says as he scoots to the middle of the bed. He squeezes her ass in both hands and raises her while he sits cross-legged. They kiss hungrily, and she rubs herself against him, wanting to finish what he started. Arya finally realizes she doesn't have to wait for him to fuck her. She lifts her hips and takes his cock in her hand, and slides it between her folds looking for the opening.

"Bloody hell, not so tight," he says between clenched teeth. He removes her hand, which she realizes now was strangling him. Sandor positions himself without any trouble, and she pushes down to take him inside. Arya stops about halfway, feeling a subtle ache, feeling full, but not pain. His hands caress her thighs, her hips, and her ass.

After a while, she experimentally rocks her hips, and they both moan. Clutching Sandor's shoulders, she attempts to fuck him in earnest. Despite her best efforts, not much is happening, and she sighs impatiently. Oh, how she wants this, and she doesn't understand why it's not working. He handles her hips to help, without much change.

"You'll be the death of me yet, girl," his tone is flat, and she feels inadequate. She looks down and lets him slide out. He cups her cheeks in both hands and brings her face close to his. "You're tiny, and it's your first time, and I'm _not_ tiny," he says with genuine warmth in his eyes. "We'll get there," he kisses her before laying down.

Arya watches with amusement as he settles in, still not knowing his plan. He looks at the headboard and scoots further down. Running into the pillows then, he tosses them to the floor in a huff. She sees that his cock is not as hard anymore, and worries the opportunity is lost. When she returns her gaze to his face, he's smirking.

"Don't you worry. You lead, and it'll follow," Sandor beckons her closer. She crawls forward hesitantly and sits on his stomach. His strong arms drag her nearly to his shoulders, and she gasps. "Put your hands on the headboard," his voice is guttural. She does, and it causes her to slide closer to his mouth.

He grips her and moves her into place. She's a little embarrassed to have him looking there, but as soon as his tongue finds her, she forgets to care. Arya can't see what he's doing, but she's overwhelmed by the heat, slippery wetness, and perfect pressure. She also has a newfound appreciation for his facial hair. The gentle scratch of it against her thighs and bundle of nerves increases her pleasure.

She moans and leans in every time he makes long, slow strokes with his tongue. She gasps and pulls away when he rapidly flicks his tongue against her bundle of nerves. She holds on to the headboard tightly when he fucks her with his tongue. He continuously switches tactics and keeps her squirming. Before long, she's moving her hips rhythmically against him. He groans, and she can feel the vibration throughout her folds.

"Sandor," she whispers and sits on his chest. "Let's try again," she says and he quickly resumes the earlier pose. His cock, ready as ever, eases into her easier and deeper this time. She moves her hips, and Sandor moans loudly.

The ache returns but is not uncomfortable as she adjusts to him. He touches her everywhere, but he allows her the control. She moves instinctively and solely for her pleasure. The sense of being filled, combined with the smooth glide of his cock through her folds, is almost too much.

Arya learns that she likes rocking her hips back and forth. She learns that Sandor says fuck every time she circles her hips. Sandor's fingers play with her nipples, and she likes it when he tugs them away from her body. If Arya pulls his hair or bites his neck, he thrusts his hips up into her. The blissful push and pull seems to go on and on.

A white-hot burn, or maybe a different kind of ache drives her now. She leans back and moves more slowly, watching the changes in his face. Her walls flutter, and he curses. Her movements become more sporadic as she urgently chases her release. Sandor grows louder and less controlled as she continues.

She suddenly remembers her earlier thought of him in bed. Beginning gently was best, but now... Now she wants to be fucked. To feel his weight on her, his cock moving inside her, and trusting him to make her feel good. She pushes on his chest until he lays down, then kisses him deeply. He slips out of her as she rolls over on her back, and they both groan. The look he gives her is almost wild. He opens his mouth, probably to whinge, but stops when she spreads her legs.

"Like this," he moves before she gets those two short words out. Sandor's body is over her, supported by his elbows and knees. "Fuck me," she begs and bites his shoulder. His short, dark laugh is almost threatening. She bends her knees and strokes her palms up his arms.

"Oh, I will. All this teasing, I'm going to fuck you so hard." Arya bites her lip and lifts her hips, seeking his cock or leg to grind on. Finally, he surges forward and fills her perfectly. She grips his back and urges him to do it again. He begins to move, and it's so much better this way. He's pushing deep inside her, and she clings to him. She can hear his ragged breaths, and he's rubbing against her in just the right spot.

That only intensifies when he slips his arms under hers and rests his weight entirely on her. She wraps her legs around him, and her head tries to tip back even though she's laying down. Now, this is how she thought it would be. Sandor is all around her, and she enjoys seeing his face and feeling him move. She tries to kiss him, but their mouths can't stay connected for long.

His hairy chest rubbing against her nipples and stomach feels phenomenal. One of his hands slides down to grab her ass. Sandor does something with his hips then, and she stops breathing as he hisses through his teeth. He groans her name and does it again with the same result.

"Yes, yes, yes," she says when she can breathe again.

"How does it feel to be fucked? To have my cock inside your pretty, wet cunt?" Their faces are close, and his brown eyes are dark and lidded.

"Uhh...," he nips her neck as she pushes up into him. "Mmm," it feels so, so good. His cock has reduced her to nothing but noises.

"That good, eh?" He whispers against her neck. Her nails scratch his back, and tightens her legs. His hands cup her ass now and raise her up somewhat. The new angle makes him feel impossibly larger, and adds pressure just where she needs it. The feeling becomes almost too intense and she feels her legs trembling. 

"Mmhmm," she says as she feels her walls start to flutter. "Sandor, I'm...," her hands tangle in her own hair. She clenches around his cock, and a raw warmth spreads through her. Arya tenses and finally tumbles over the edge. She screams his name and pushes up into him over and over.

"Fuck, I can feel it," his voice is strained. Sandor speeds up his thrusts, eager for his release. He lifts his upper body to lick and suck at her nipples before glancing down. Arya follows his gaze to see his cock disappearing inside her, then emerging wet and shiny. Their eyes meet seconds before his close, and he thrusts one last time. He holds still deep inside her and lets out a _very loud_ , very long, and satisfied moan.

He slides out and rests his face on her stomach. Arya strokes and plays with his hair as they recover. Sandor's fingers trace the scars on her skin. She uses the quiet time to process her feelings. His silence makes her wonder if he's doing the same.

As for the sex, she understands the appeal now. She's positive it isn't always like that, and she's glad she chose Sandor. He had made it the perfect mix of soft and hard. She knew she'd be in good hands. Arya isn't sure she would have gone through with it had it been anyone else.

Loud noises in the corridor cause them to sit up warily. It's an unpleasant reminder that they might die tonight. Arya stands up on shaky legs, figuring it won't serve them to be naked when death arrives. She catches Sandor staring at her ass as she pulls her pants up. Arya smirks at him, and his lips quirk up too.

Once they're ready, she turns to him. He looks down and away, and Arya doesn't want to leave things this way. She hasn't quite sorted out how she feels but would very much like for this to happen again.

"That was better than I ever imagined," she says to be sure he knows. They make eye contact, and she feels enveloped by him once more. She closes her eyes and inhales slowly. "I can still feel you," she whispers. He approaches then and cups her cheek. Arya opens them slowly, feeling turned on and languid.

"If we weren't heading into battle, I'd have you again," his thumb brushes her bottom lip. "That was better than all of my encounters combined," he says seriously. Arya didn't want to think about him with other women, though it's absurd that she would be jealous. 

"If we live, we're doing that again," she doesn't leave it up for discussion, and he kisses her intensely. They kiss and touch until the dreaded alarm sounds.

"Now _that_ is something to live for," he smirks at her, and it warms her more than it should. Arya smiles back and impulsively hugs him before unbarring the door. One last meaningful look and they head out for the fight of their lives.


End file.
